My Soul
by Askari Knight
Summary: Harper and Tyr, sorta. Very fed up. There's a new danger for the Andromeda crew: one of their own. Enjoy, and reviews are requested.
1. My Soul is Here

Disclaimer: I thought I'd try something different while I take a break from my other fic. This is, to say the least, very different from what I usually write. I don't own Andromeda or any of the characters in it. It's slash, and very dark, I think. Therefore, obviously, I'm thinking "WTF?" when I think about where this came from.

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When the steel kisses my wrist, I find that my heart is beating hard, as though it knows what I am about to do, and feels some sort of necessity to pulse harder, attempting to force emotion into my empty carcass. I am dead already. My body just needs to catch up. 

I can't move my feet.

Almost effortlessly, the blade slides in, bringing with it a breath of chill winter before the blazing summer storm. My breath hitches as I pull it out, turning my arm over to find that I have pierced through to the other side. The sweet sight of my life seeping into the bed-sheets is, intoxicating. Alluring. What would Rommie say?

"This is a ridiculous and pointless activity."

Maybe. Her voice is too low, though. There's probably a problem with her vocal processor. Maybe I should try and fix it.

Sluggishly, my arm, the one clasping the blade, Tyr's blade, rises up, before collapsing back down. Too much energy required to get up, but maybe I can, play, before I fail.

Releasing the dagger, His dagger, I manage to roll myself onto my side, bringing my arms up slowly to my view.

The cut, such a silly, little thing, doesn't gush, doesn't spurt, like one would expect. My hand is covered, and I bring it up to my face, curious.

I can't move my fingers.

Delicately, my tongue darts out and tastes the crimson.

Who knew scarlet had a flavour? So metallic, so smooth. It is warm, though I grow cold.

Something crawls down my cheek, tickling the tiny hairs. My other hand comes up and my thumb touches it, coming away, glistening. Slowly, I slip it into my mouth, tasting the salt.

"Taste, such an overlooked sense," I whisper, my voice hoarse from earlier sobbing. Was it really only an hour ago that I locked myself in here?

I can't move my legs. They grow cold.

Probing the wound that would soon set me free, I slipped my thumb inside, pushing undamaged arteries and tendons aside, feeling the sting from the salt as it viciously forced feeling on me. Involuntarily, I hiss. Still, I press, and I push, my thumb wiggling between bones and into the incision in the muscle. I giggle slightly when my thumb pokes through on the other side, scarlet, not tan, like it belonged to some demon and not some scrawny little kludge.

Time slows to a crawl as I wait to bleed myself away, spread my soul onto the sheets and have it diluted with the cleaner they'll use. I wonder if Rev is right about the Divine. Will my soul go to it, instead of disappearing with my blood? Or will I just cease? No more Harper?

I look down, and find that my thumb is slowing the flow, so I move to pull it free, whining with the pain.

I can't move my arms. They grow weak.

"Figures," I murmur, frozen in place, unable to do anything to speed my voyage. "I can't do anything right. First Tyr, now this."

Breathing becomes tiresome, my lungs struggling against my desires.

What will Dylan do without an engineer? Probably hire someone else as soon as I'm gone.

My heart becomes frantic. I try to soothe it, try to tell it to relax. There is no point to resisting.

There never was.

What would Trance say? What would she do? My purple goddess, lost. Or maybe she wouldn't mourn me. She would know better.

I can't speak. My lips seal.

And Tyr?

No loss for him. The kludge is going away, disappearing, vanishing, gone. Just the way he wants me to. Just the way he told me to.

Well, my last big trip was my idea. His exact words were, "Get lost or something." I could be paraphrasing, though.

Maybe I wouldn't get lost, or maybe I would. Should I purposely get lost for him?

Beka, almost a sister to me, would she miss me? No, I'm just an engineer, dime-a-dozen. No doubt she thinks I'm a burden.

"Privacy lock disengaged," Andromeda's voice echoed throughout the room and probably in the hall too.

I didn't order it, so, what's going on?

The next little while is a blur of purple, Dylan and Tyr shouting at each other and Beka crying. Roughly, I'm moved around, whimpering as my thumb is forcibly removed from my wrist and padding placed on it. Nanobots crawl around inside of my arm, repairing the cut, and a replacement for my soul, the broken one I intended to leave on my sheets, it screamed into my veins, charging me, rejuvenating me, bringing me back. To somewhere I didn't want to be. A place where nobody wanted me.

I can feel myself, though I don't want to.

I can breathe, but I can't stand the air.

I can see, yet I don't want to watch.

I wake up, the lights dim, someone watching me. A brief glance shows me that it's Tyr. I turn my head away, willing him to get up and leave. Silently pleading for him to leave, because I don't want to deal with him.

He didn't want me, so why is he here?

"I am well aware of the fact that you are awake." Anger, frustration, even hatred I can understand. Not relief. Why couldn't I just die? He evokes such, feelings, emotions, things I don't want to feel. It makes me feel as though I have been raped, feelings forced upon me with violence, urgency. "You truly are an idiot, Harper. Do you not realize that you could have died?"

"That was the point," I whisper, throat dry and sore. It feels as though I've been crying, but my face doesn't feel wet. Still, I keep my face from him.

"What could possess you to even consider such an action? Please, let me know. There has to be some, logic, behind the mask that is Harper!"

"You didn't want me," I murmur, closing my eyes when he comes around to where my gaze was peacefully piercing the wall. I try to move my head back, to face away from him, but he grabs me with one big, chocolate hand, forcing me to look at him.

Unlike mine, his face is wet. He has been crying. Why would he?

"That is incorrect, Harper," he leaned his face very close to me. "I want you more than I want my pride to be restored. I need you more than food and drink. Listening to you chatter is more glorious than any battle, and watching you work is more fulfilling than a well-earned victory. You, however, cannot tear your eyes from your work to see me. You will not stop thinking about making things or fixing things. You don't need me as much as I need you. Until you do, we cannot be with each other. I will not come second to anything, much less a machine!" He stood up straight and walked toward the exit. "Until you do, I can't love you."

There are no words for how I feel when he speaks those words. One tear slithers down my cheek, and I turn away, free to do so. Anger, love, fear, all are consumed by an overwhelming emptiness, a depression which crushes my soul into nothing.

Now I am nothing, gloriously so.


	2. My Soul is Missing

Disclaimer: I told myself that I would actually write a one-shot...and look what you forced me to do! Maybe I'll continue this as an actual storyline, but I must get lots of good reviews! In this one, Tyr's POV. I know I screwed up the tenses, but maybe it works, hmm?

* * *

I amsprawled across a chair on the bridge, cleaning my nails with my dagger. One recently cleansed of blood.

The one **he** used.

With seemingly great interest, I hold it up so that light glints off of it. So remarkable that he Instantly, my temper flares, and I throw it across the room. It isn't designed to be utilized in such a manner, but it plunges deep into the wall, just in front of Captain Hunt.

Startled, he flinches back and reflexively grabs for his force lance, before realizing there is only me nearby.

"What's the problem, Tyr?" He walks towards me with the calm, precise movements of a well-trained Highguard officer. At least, I assume he's well-trained. I could be wrong. "I'm pretty sure the wall didn't do anything to you."

"No, it did not, Captain Hunt," I snap, glaring at him. "I would appreciate being left alone, now."

"You know, that's funny," The man spoke with a chuckle, indicating he was not pleased with my response. "Last time I checked, the bridge was a common area. I had no idea it was now your personal demesne."

I did not respond, closing my eyes and fixating my hearing on the drone of the ship's engines.

"I have a suggestion," Hunt's voice intruded, shattering the fragile dome of calmness where I was slowly becoming enraged at a certain human's actions once again. "Why don't you take a walk? See the sights, go to, oh, I don't know. Andromeda, just out of completely random curiosity, where's Harper?"

"Observation deck," the ship replied, face appearing briefly on the screen ahead of us.

"Go to the observation deck." He told me, taking his "I am a rock. I am a mountain. Try to make me change my mind and I will smash you into gooey little pieces."-stance.

"Is that an order, Captain?" Acid dripped from my voice, and I add the title almost as an afterthought, ensuring that he understands I am using it as an insult.

"Yes, Tyr, it is. I'll be watching, too. Or, Andromeda will, whichever is more efficient."

Divine help us all, he truly is hit-or-miss.

"And take your knife!"

I hesitate at the entrance, all of my engineered instincts toward survival screaming at me to save myself.

_From what? A paltry engineer?_ Still, I feel nervous, my mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty.

"Go inside!" Andromeda's holographic form appears next to me, arms crossed and an expression of intense irritation on her face. "It's been two weeks, and you haven't even spoken to him!"

"If he wanted to speak to me, then he would have come to me." Even I knew my argument was pathetic. Imagine, a Nietzschean, defending himself against a machine while being nervous about a meeting with a mere human. An attractive human who had, apparently, overridden all my engineered urges towards procreation and replaced them with some strange, pull, towards him, his brilliant mind, and his slender body.

If I had a pride, I would have been laughed out.

"Here, I'll make up your mind for you!" Two of the ship's drones grabbed my arms and pushed me into the observation deck, where Harper was sitting, staring at the stars, knees tucked underneath his chin. My sudden irritation at the drones died quite suddenly when my keen sight caught shimmering trails on his face, evidence that he'd been crying.

I felt disgusted with myself, for causing the incarnation of beauty to be so sad.

"Leave."

My attention came back to the here and now when Harper spoke, no quiver in his voice, though it is devoid of all emotion. No anger, no sadness, just, nothing. It struck me as nothing else he could have done would have.

He just sat there, staring out at the stars, a hand pressed against the clear surface.

"Are you still here?"

Again, almost like a physical blow. I feel reluctant to speak, afraid that the vacuum within Harper would destroy me if I do.

He continued speaking as though I had actually spoken. The silence in here was so complete, he probably heard my thoughts.

"Then listen, Nietzschean, and listen well, for I will say this once only."

Perhaps I should ask Andromeda to raise the temperature in here, for surely it has dropped.

"You do not respect what I do, trust what I do, or even attempt to do so. For you, it is glory and genetics, pride and arrogance. I don't feel that I should pity you, though." He turned his face toward me, and I saw what I had first taken to be tears, were trails of crimson. It appeared that he had attempted to gouge his eyes out. "Of course, I don't really feel much anymore. Not since you crushed me, destroyed my soul and made quite clear, in no uncertain terms, that you could not love me."

A tiny hint of emotion crept into his voice at last. It was minute, but I could detect the carefully checked anger. Even with all my training, I doubted I would be willing to defend myself. He wanted to hurt me, crush me, destroy my soul as I had his.

I would have let him, had he not started crying. Not loud, just tears rolling down his angelic face.

"I didn't say that I could never love you," I spoke quietly, the first words since I'd come in. Harper narrowed his mutilated eyes at me, quite possibly considering all the ways he could use a laser-cutter to dismember me, and whether Captain Hunt would let him get away with it.

"Then what did you say?" The cloying sweetness in his voice was enough to give one a tooth-ache, but it did nothing to allay my nervousness of this little human. Every single fibre of my being ordered me to run, but I stood still, prideful enough to take my punishment at the hands of this man I had wronged.

"That, we can't be together." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Not until you think of me first." Instantly, I knew it was the wrong thing to say, and the little human looked bigger than Andromeda in his rage.

"Not until I think of you?" He shouted. "What do you think I've been doing for the last four months? Sorry, I forgot, you're not a mind-reader, you're just a muscle-bound moron!" He grabbed something from where he'd been sitting and stalked over to me, glaring all the time. "Or maybe you are a mind-reader, and just can't be bothered to look at a kludge! Never mind what's been staring you in the fucking face!" Harper had apparently picked up his force-lance, and when he got close enough, he swung it as hard as he could at my head.

I chose not to move, to take whatever he wanted to give me, as it would probably be the best I could get.

The pain never came, and curiosity beckoned my gaze to turn from his agony-stricken face to his hand, which had been caught mid-swing by some deeper instinct in my body, in the form of his forearm being held firmly by my right hand.

Surprise crawled across my normally impassive face, and Harper made a half-hearted attempt to extricate himself, but I held firm.

"For too long have I waited," I murmured, bringing my other hand up to caress Harper's blood-stained cheek. "I said I needed you more than life." The human looked up at me, suddenly very frail. "I told you I wanted nothing before me, and nothing before you." Looking at my fingers, smeared with Harper's blood, I suddenly felt his sorrow, replaced by emptiness, a void I wished to fill. "There is nothing before you," I pulled him flush against my body, letting his arm down. "Is there anything before me?"

"There is one thing." he murmured, tilting his head up, as though to greet my lips with his own.

The pain was sudden, unexpected. I looked down, only to find my own dagger shoved up, under my rib-cage, but not far enough to pierce my heart. But it was beating wildly, unsteadily, as though something were interfering with it.

My eyes met Harper's. If eyes are windows to the soul, then he no longer has one.

_What have I done?_

The poison was not too hard to acquire, and a properly coated blade would have been instant and painless. An engineer, such as Harper, who was exact in most everything else, had chosen to use it improperly, ascertaining Tyr's death to be incredibly painful and drawn out.

After his nerves had stopped sending signals, which caused the Nietzschean to twitch and shake, Harper knelt down, kissing the body's forehead.

"Will your soul ooze everywhere, like your blood?" The short human wonder aloud. "Or will you cease to exist, like you did to me? Maybe you'll be lonely. I should send you someone to talk to."

Harper stood up, bloody, poisoned dagger in one hand and force-lance in the other.

"I'm coming, Trance," he giggled, licking the blood off the blade, and enjoying the searing taste of the poison. "There's someone you should see."


	3. Dylan's Soul?

Wow…Okay, chapter 3. About time, yes? Let's just say my inspiration is because I'm not too pleased with my college and their ideas of "fair" grading. This chapter is significantly more, well...gross, than the other ones. If you like it, I'll continue. If not, then please give me criticism so I can make it longer. Believe it or not, I do listen to such comments.

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"Andromeda, what's the status of Tyr?" Dylan asks, setting his empty cup down on the table.

Silence.

"Andromeda?"

"Here, Captain," her holographic visage flickers into being a few feet away. Instead of her customary uniform she appears to have donned a black dress and veil, as though she were at an old Earth funeral.

"That's…a new outfit," he comments, his eyebrows raising in inquiry.

"Mr. Harper saw fit to play 'dress-up' today," she sounds worried, anxious.

"What's wrong?"

"My current programming prohibits me from answering a question with that context."

"Your 'current programming?'" Dylan gives a short bark of laughter before looking at Andromeda directly. "Oh no. Harper." In a flash he's out of his seat and rushing towards the door, belting on his forcelance as he goes. Expecting the door to open, he runs into it. "Andromeda, open this door right now."

"I am eagerly trying to be sorry, Captain," a new voice emanates from the hologram's lips, flat and devoid of emotion. Harper's voice. "But I don't think you warrant the effort it would take to dreg up such a feeling. Out." With that, the hologram deactivates, and the lights begin flickering.

"Ah hell!" Dylan curses, kicking the door. It opens a crack, enough to dig his fingers into and pry apart. Grunting and cursing profusely, he manages to widen the space enough for him to attempt to squeeze through.

"Ship's internal defensive system activated."

The electronic words come like a death warrant as turrets spin in place and launch plasma discharges in Dylan's direction. He hurriedly moves to pull himself back into his quarters, but the door closes, crushing his ribcage and likely cracking several bones. With a grunt of pain, he heaves himself out of the door, but his hand is caught at the wrist, where the carpal bones widen and begin to flare out into the actual hand. His face goes first red with effort, then white as the door snaps shut, severing his hand with a sickeningly wet crack. He cannot help but cry out from the pain that goes on and on.

"Dylan, so strong…so tough," Harper murmurs, listening to the music of agony. Pain incomparably minuscule when set beside his own, but lingering and more immediate. "I wonder what you'll lose next." His giggles are cut off as though with the knife that was supposed to sever his life when a drone walks in clumsily and deposits a bloody chunk of flesh at the creature's side. "Look, we have a souvenir!" He picks up the hand and starts picking the bones out. "This'll make a pretty little glove, won't it, Tyr?" The creature shifts from his seated position on the Nietzschean's belly. "I know it doesn't match the one you gave me, but the contrast is rather striking. Oh my, look at this mess!" He motions at the bloody bones. "Look at how Dylan's soul sticks to his insides. It's all sticky! I wonder what will happen when I take the rest of it from him? Is he so bent on restoring the Commonwealth that even his soul has become too stubborn to leave? What's that, Tyr?" He turns and looks at the corpse's face, foam dripping down from the corner of its mouth. "Yes, stupidity probably plays a factor in that as well." With the bones of the hand fully removed, he pulled the skin over his own little hand. "Would you look at that, Tyr? It's almost as big as yours! Well, you know what they say about big hands. Too bad there's not more to choose from on this ship. I really need to change my wardrobe." The creature plucked at his shirt with both hands, one light, one dark.


End file.
